The Stroke of Winter

by Wendy Webb

Joe alone was the keeper of those memories, and so many more like them, Tess thought. It was a great responsibility, holding all that history inside one’s head. An important vigil. Maybe that was why newer experiences faded as one neared the end of a long life. The brain simply couldn’t hold the lifetime of memories it had stored, and the most precious took precedence over those that came after. Who cared what he had for lunch the day before? His mind was otherwise occupied.

“You deserve someone who loves you as much as you love everyone else.”

Families can try to bury secrets. But in the end, truth scratches its way out of the deepest, darkest of holes.